


Fragile Life

by Silver_belle



Series: Alistair Lavellan [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: All of those too, Bring tissues, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I swear, M/M, all the feels, it ends happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8265758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_belle/pseuds/Silver_belle
Summary: Dorian has long feared the day he loses the Inquisitor forever. When that day finally comes at Adamant fortress, it is the stuff of nightmares.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *Another one-shot from later on in the Out of Time story. Again, it's already written, so here you go!

Dorian waited. He stared at the rift, and he waited. Oh, _Maker_ , he waited, and with every passing second, the pain in his chest grew.

“Come on, Amatus,” he whispered pleadingly. 

Battle raged around him. Dorian registered Bull knocking away several demons before they could reach him, yet Dorian couldn’t seem to summon the ability to move. His feet may as well have taken root in the stone because he couldn’t even begin to tear his eyes away from the rift, much less the rest of his body.

Alistair should have followed by now. He should have been safely on the correct side of that rift, closing it for good. In the Fade, Alistair had motioned for Dorian and the others to run on. The last thing Dorian saw before he stepped into the swirling green that brought him back to Adamant was Alistair running with Stroud and Hawke. They should have been back by now. More than enough time had passed for them to close that distance. Something must have happened.

“This is it,” Dorian whispered. _This is the day I lose him forever._

Just as he thought that, the rift flared, and Hawke leaped through. Dorian’s heart stopped as Hawke stood and turned expectantly back to the hole in the sky. 

“The Inquisitor was right behind me,” Hawke shook his head in confusion. “Stroud stayed behind to hold off the Nightmare, but the Inquisitor…”

With another flare, Alistair was thrown unceremoniously to the ground, and Dorian breathed for the first time in what felt like ages. 

Slowly, Alistair’s elven form rose, and he stretched out his left hand. He closed his fist, and the rift snapped shut, destroying the remaining demons. Relief flooded Dorian, and he rested his hands on his knees while those around him rushed toward the Inquisitor. That relief was short lived.

“Boss?” Dorian caught the note of concern in Bull’s voice, and his head shot up. 

Alistair’s posture was stooped slightly, and his right arm hugged his middle. He smiled weakly and held up his left hand in a reassuring gesture, but Dorian’s eyes fell to the blood pooling on the ground beneath his lover’s feet. 

“No,” he whispered desperately, rushing forward.

Alistair took a single, shaking step before collapsing onto Bull’s waiting arm.

“Boss!” The qunari pulled Alistair close and went to the ground with him. Dorian couldn’t tell from this distance how badly Alistair was injured, but the near panic in Bull’s voice spoke volumes. “Someone get a medic up here!”

Dorian couldn’t really remember moving, but the next thing he knew, he was pulling Alistair’s tiny body from Bull’s big arms. He also didn’t remember starting to cry, but tears fell onto Alistair’s pale cheeks nonetheless. 

A deep wound marred Alistair’s side, and blood flowed freely from it, pulsing slightly with every rapid beat of the elf’s heart. Dorian couldn’t be certain with how they were positioned, but it appeared Alistair had been run through.

“Amatus,” Dorian breathed, pushing white hair from the Inquisitor’s face. 

Lethargy was apparent as Alistair’s lashes parted to reveal his stunningly green eyes. A feeble smile pulled at his full lips. 

“Dorian,” Alistair murmured. The weakness of his voice shattered the mage’s heart. “I was afraid I wouldn’t get to see you again.”

Sorrow fought a hard battle against panic in Dorian’s mind as Alistair heaved and blood bubbled to his lips. More tears blurred Dorian’s vision as he helped his lover turn to spit the crimson liquid on the ground. 

Summoning every bit of healing magic he possessed, Dorian held a hand over Alistair’s side. He knew the effort was futile. The elven man was losing blood at an alarming rate, and no amount of magic would save him now. Dorian doubted anything would save his Amatus now, but that didn’t stop him from trying. 

“Dorian,” Alistair called softly.

“ _Where is that damned medic?_ ” Dorian roared over his shoulder.

“Dorian!” The Inquisitor gasped. He raised a hand to pull Dorian’s face to him. “Vhenan, it’s too late.”

“No!” Dorian growled, shaking his head earnestly. “No, you can’t just leave me like this!”

“Forgive me,” Alistair wheezed. His skin was growing ashen and clammy, and his slender frame trembled in Dorian’s arms. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, and he stared up at Dorian as though memorizing his every feature. “I’m so sorry.”

“Festis bei umo canavarum,” Dorian sobbed, choking out the words. “This _will_ be the death of me.”

“No, vhenan,” Alistair whispered. “We have always known…it could end this way.”

“But it wasn’t supposed to be you!” Dorian moaned brokenly. “You were supposed to save the world. If anyone died before the end, it should have been me! What good is a mouthy, flashy mage from Tevinter in all this?”

“More good…than you know,” Alistair smiled wearily—one side of his mouth curling into that lopsided grin Dorian adored so. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be you,” Dorian whimpered through his tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Alistair sobbed. More blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and Dorian quickly wiped it away with his thumb. “You said…something more might…be dangerous, but I…wouldn’t listen.”

“No,” Dorian shook his head firmly. “There is nothing I regret about loving you. _Nothing_.”

“Me neither,” Alistair smiled faintly.

Dorian leaned forward and placed his lips against Alistair’s. He found comfort in the familiar warmth of them despite the metallic tang of blood. They were soft and as tender as always, but Dorian knew this was but a fleeting illusion. His lover was dying, and there was nothing he could do to save him.

As if to accentuate the thought, Alistair’s breathing hitched, and he pulled away from the kiss. Dorian blinked away tears as he gazed at his Amatus. Alistair lay gasping for breath, and Dorian knew the end had finally come. 

“Dorian?” Alistair’s feeble voice shook, and for the first time, his hazy eyes filled with fear.

“I’m right here, Amatus,” Dorian swallowed his grief to answer. 

Though his heart was in pieces, he would be the strength his love needed in this moment. He held Alistair close and gripped his hand. Even the green light of the Anchor grew faint as the Inquisitor’s life slipped away. 

“I love you,” Dorian whispered.

Alistair opened his mouth to answer, but no words came. He blinked once, and then the light in his eyes faded and went out. His head rolled to the side, and his body stilled.

“Amatus?” Dorian shook him gently. When no response came, the tears he’d suppressed burst from his eyes in a wave. He cried out as he shook Alistair again. 

_“Amatus!”_

Dorian’s breaths came in heaving gasps and left in heartrending sobs. He pulled Alistair’s thin body tightly against his own and buried his face in the elf’s neck. 

“Dorian,” Cullen spoke behind the broken man. “Dorian, the healers—”

“They’re too _late_!” Dorian spat angrily over his shoulder. “The _Inquisitor_ is _dead_.”

“Maker, preserve us,” Cullen breathed as he took a step back.

Dorian turned back to the lifeless man in his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” He moaned quietly. “It should have been me.”

Suddenly, Dorian felt Alistair’s body being pulled from his arms. He looked up to see men he didn’t recognize.

“Leave him,” Dorian hissed, but the men didn’t respond. They only fought harder to take the man Dorian loved. 

“ _Don’t touch him!_ ” Dorian roared.

But his efforts were useless. Despite the desperation with which he clung to Alistair’s body, it was taken from Dorian as quickly as his life, and Dorian was left alone in the darkness—his entire world shattered before him.

 

All at once, Dorian opened his eyes. Instead of the stone fortress of Adamant, he saw the lush canopy that hung above the Inquisitor’s bed. He was breathing hard, trembling with adrenaline, and cold sweat soaked his body. 

Desperately trying to focus his mind, Dorian reached out. Just to his right, he felt the soft warmth of skin, and he allowed relief to wash over him.

It was a dream. It was all a dream. The battle at Adamant did not end that way. Though he was delayed and injured, Alistair lived. He lived, and he lay in a deep slumber by Dorian’s side.

The Tevinter mage rolled over. Sure enough, Alistair was there. His pale hair and skin gleamed in the moonlight, and his green tattoos marked the beautifully angled lines of his flawless face. His long lashes lay on his cheeks, and his perfect lips hung ever so slightly open. 

Dorian’s eyes traveled down the Inquisitor’s neck and to his chest. The skin there bore a few scars, but it too was perfect in Dorian’s eyes. Bandages still bound the superficial wounds from the battle a few days previous, but that wasn’t where Dorian’s attention lingered.

The chiseled form of Alistair’s chest rose and fell slowly in a peaceful rhythm. Just watching each new breath—each clear sign of life—brought tears to Dorian’s eyes. So many times he’d watched the man he loved walk into danger, unafraid, and Dorian often feared the day Alistair wouldn’t return—it was very literally the stuff of his nightmares. They had been lucky so far, but just how long would it last?

Dorian reached out a trembling hand and laid it on Alistair’s chest. He could feel the steady beating of the beautiful heart beneath his palm. He lifted his eyes and smiled at the serene expression on his lover’s face. Alistair carried the weight of all Thedas on his shoulders, so serenity was a rare gift. Dorian reached up and brushed back the hair from Alistair’s forehead and kissed him gently.

“I love you, Amatus,” he whispered through his tears.

Life is such a fragile thing, yet so easily taken for granted. But Dorian vowed that night—as he had every night before and would every night after—he would treasure every moment with Alistair as a gift from the Maker himself.


End file.
